He's at the tavern!
by KIMMIKY
Summary: What is a Warlock to do when a prat of a king can't see the man through the haze of alcohol fumes? Will contain whump, misconceptions and traumatic uses of horse trough's in double measures.
1. Chapter 1

True obliviousness must be a gift, Merlin supposed. For Arthur, it meant never even trying to look beyond what his mind told him even if all physical evidence pointed to the contrary.

Take now for example? The bag slung carefully over his aching shoulder was fairly bursting with herbs, the basket on his other arm held the bottles Gaius had requested he collect from the glassmakers last evening before he set out and his boots and the lower half of his breeches were both wet and muddy, covered in grass stains and scratches from having to collect hawthorn for Gaius's remedies and the blackberries he had indulgently collected as a supplement to their otherwise bland breakfast. And yet despite all of this, and the fact he smelled of damp grass and not stale ale, Arthur was still insistent on his having spent the night in the rising sun. Merlin hadn't the foggiest idea where he would have gained the idea since if asked Gaius would have truthfully told him he was out on errands for himself.

Merlin tried again to gain his employer's attention and defend himself since despite the rest of Arthur's inner circle standing there just behind the king they were doing a very poor job of acting like the knights they were and seeking justice for the innocent citizens of Camelot. No if he had to describe them all at this precise moment he would have to say they were being childishly gleeful about his embarrassment and having a hard time holding in their laughter at his discomfort. "Arthur!" The king ignored him again just as he had the last thirty odd times he had tried.

"…It's irresponsible Merlin. Do you have any idea how important this treaty is? And you would jeopardise such peace by acting in a manner unbefitting to Camelot's image…" There was a distinctive snort from Gwaine, hastily turned into a cough.

Merlin frowned deeply at him hoping he choked on his suppressed mirth, this was hardly a laughing matter.

That was it! The stupid clotpole just wasn't listening, again. He should be used to it by now, and usually yes he could just shrug and smile about it and come up with a whole witty repartee he would run out in his head or under his breath and call his king an idiot in his own mind before running up to Gaius and repeating the whole incident with laughter in his eyes. But right now he was tired, sore and in need of a wash since he hadn't finished with Arthur till well into the wee hours and then gone straight out for Gaius and his damnable night blooming flowers. Tripped over his own feet in the darkness and fallen down a slight incline that luckily grass covered as it was only bruised his ego and his funny bone rather than anything serious and now after a night of no sleep and hard labour for both his masters he was berated as if he were a small child in need of a nursemaid on constant watch. The words flowed out without conscious direction. "As if you are doing so much better _sire_ , reprimanding me on the stairs in full view of our esteemed guests for something I haven't done."

He realised as soon as he said them he would regret having spoken aloud with such peevishness and winced mightily before rubbing his forehead at the headache blooming through lack of sleep and coiled tension, just waiting for the axe to fall.

"I am your sovereign, and you my subject, and I will damn well reprimand you anywhere I please."

"Arthur..."

"No, Merlin. No more excuses, no more apologies. Until this treaty is completed I will have no more from you. Get yourself cleaned up and be down at the training grounds in fifteen minutes."

"The training grounds?! Arthur I'm supposed to be helping Gaius today." Gaius had made the request for Merlin to spend the day assisting him only a couple of days ago knowing Merlin would have next to no sleep and would be able to grab at least a few hours under the guise of making remedies for the physician. A fact Arthur seemed to have conveniently forgotten he'd given permission for.

Another stab of pain from his rapidly developing migraine leapt across his eyes and he rubbed a little harder, thereby missing the look of disgust aimed squarely at his person completely.

"I gave permission based on you working not using it as an excuse to be an idiot. If you have a sore head Merlin it's your own fault, perhaps training with it will make you rethink your drinking habits."

"I have a sore head from lack of sleep clotpole not..." But he was talking to the Pratt's back as he walked away with a little wave over one shoulder and those vicious few words thrown carelessly over the other.

"Fifteen minutes, _Mer_ lin!"

The rest of the knights turned to follow, not even bothering to smother their laughter now Arthur had moved out of earshot.

"Funny is it?!" Sarcasm was nothing new to Merlin but this whole morning was just getting to him in a way it hadn't in a long time and he felt justified in feeling just a little put upon. So his words came out so much harder and more vicious than was normal. It did at least knock the stupid grins from their faces as they turned back in surprise. "Fat lot of good you are! Call yourself Knights? Defenders of the weak, my arse! Defenders of your own entertainment more like!"

"Merlin..." And Gwaine sounded altogether puzzled. As if he had never thought Merlin might not go along with one of their jokes, and yes in other circumstances he might have, but this was far from funny. Arthur's fixation of Merlin being an alcoholic had been less than amusing for a very long time now.

"You know I wasn't there. You know it and you never even tried to speak up."

"We do know it Merlin. But we also know you sneak out a lot." Gwaine was now winking at him in an insane way and Merlin couldn't fathom why he was being even more of an ingrate than normal.

Surprisingly the explanation came from Elyan of all people, and the hand on Gwaine's arm indicating he should cease the irritating gestures and the gentle words just confused him. "We just assumed you had a lady friend you couldn't speak about with us. There were rumours of her being high born and the tavern was always your cover excuse since Arthur really wouldn't approve."

And just like that, Merlin felt like he'd been dowsed with cold water. _They saw him sneak away?_ Though from what they were saying they thought it was to meet some noble woman? For a fling? There were even rumours about it?

The sheer astonishment kept him quiet, gaping like a fish, too long. His silence was taken as assent and the smiles returned tenfold. The slap on the back from his roguish friend snapped him out of the stupefaction. "I always knew you had it in you! So who is she? Anyone we know? Promise we won't tell."

"I don't...I'm not..." Merlin, cheeks now a deep cherry red, shook his head to clear it and really wished he hadn't when his head protested yet again. "I wasn't in the Tavern and I most certainly wasn't seeing a woman." He was proud of how forceful the words came out seeing as how shaken he actually was. But Gwaine just winked tapping his finger on the side of his nose. "I completely understand. Your secret is safe with me."

And just as with Arthur they all turned around and walked away, all his protests now falling on deaf ears. He was left feeling as if everyone had been hit with a dose of insanity and he were now the only being making any kind of sense left in the whole of Camelot.


	2. Chapter 2 It get's worse

_**I am not going to apologise for the wait. That implies I have learnt my lesson and can promise I will never do it again which anyone who has ever read my works will know is not the case. I update when I can which nowadays is when I get five minutes away from work. Having your own booming business and being a single parent to two very active kids, sucks when it comes to free time in which to write!**_

 _ **I still have no claim over my favourite warlock and crew.**_

 _ **...**_

 **He's at the tavern**

 **Chapter 2- It gets worse.**

The door at the top of the tower steps would have slammed if his head hadn't been pounding so badly and the diatribe he was about to launch at his mentor died on his tongue when he realised the room was echoingly empty.

He sighed instead upon seeing the note left on the table, the same type as had been placed thusly so many times over the last few weeks. Opening it only proved what he had known as soon as he saw it, propped in the usual place against the base of the largest candle stick. Gaius had been urgently called away to the lower town again. The physician having been urgently needed for yet another accident, this time involving a mason working on the walls damaged during Morgana's last assault. He sighed in resigned irritation, the pace his mentor kept could not continue, hell Merlin was barely keeping up and he was five decades younger **and** not still in recovery from Morgana's torture and starvation. Something needed to give soon or his Mentor would end up as a patient and Merlin's workload would consequently become ten times as large.

There had been so many instances along the same vein in the last few months due mostly to the lower town's healers either being killed, injured themselves or having fled during those few frantic days of Morgana's second rule to never return. It put a lot of pressure on the court physician, even now when the illnesses and injuries directly arising from the conflict had all been taken care of.

But it almost seemed as if the people were afraid of yet another imminent assault from the witch, hence the rather frenetic pace of the rebuilding. He didn't exactly blame them, with two insurgencies in as many years things looked grim, and yet he could not help wishing the citizens would take more care instead of trying for speed over caution. It was Gaius who ended up seeing to the inevitable accidents and consequently Merlin who was sent out for the increasingly dwindling supply of autumnal herbs with which to heal them. Both of them had been running on very little sleep lately and he wasn't entirely sure if Arthur knew that, or just counted it as something they couldn't avoid and everyone would just have to put up with it. At this point Merlin wasn't sure which was worse Arthur not knowing and just assuming everything was normal or being aware of the difficulties and still expecting excellence without consequence. Sometimes Merlin hated Arthur's entitled attitude with a passion which scared him.

Going into his room, grabbing and downing a headache potion as he went, and pocketing another (since he couldn't see Arthur allowing him the few moments it would take to retrieve it if he needed a second dose later) he changed his breeches for his last clean pair and realised the ones he had worn would need to be laundered not just brushed and aired, since the muddy grass stains were so ingrained they wouldn't budge without a proper scrub. Yet another job he would need to do later, oh joy.

Whether Arthur knew how much he and Gaius now had on their plate or not he still had duties to the king. The note stated Gaius would not be back until probably early evening, telling him to go ahead and get some sleep. To not worry about any remedies, unless he felt able to make more of the cough medicine he needed for the Thatcher. There was also a slightly wonky addendum on the bottom in a shakier hand as if scrawled hastily whilst on his way out of the door asking if he could wash the few over robes they used as aprons between them as they were now down to the last clean pair.

Merlin groaned in exhaustion and frustration, it would seem the laundry was a little more urgent than he had guessed, he sighed again. Tonight it would have to be and hope Arthur's current mood would not keep him so late there would be no sleep for yet another night. He gathered the robes into a bundle along with his own clothing, leaving them tied in a rough knot on his bed for as soon as he could get away, and praying it would be sooner rather than later.

He had almost laughed aloud at the mention of sleep, the chance would be a fine thing and the remedy would also need to wait until he finished with Arthur. He scowled again at the unfairness, training with the pratt would mean no hot food unless he managed to finish at some kind of reasonable time this afternoon. And knowing Arthur's temper whenever the subject of the tavern came up lately that just would not happen. He wasn't so bothered for himself, he could always raid the stores for some bread and cheese, but Gaius deserved better.

Leaving his room only moments later he made his way down to the training field, hoping against hope the pain potion would start to kick in before Arthur went at him full tilt. And praying to any god that would listen it would be jousting or shield work with swords rather than maces.

He'd gotten used to Arthur's mannerisms over the years he'd had to hold that damnable shield or those tiny training hoops and knew what to expect, could dodge the worst of the blows. But maces were another story altogether. He'd never gotten the hang of the way they swung, or of Arthur's technique. They just seemed random to him, although that could just be because he'd never had as much training with those as he had with every other weapon in Arthur's vast arsenal.

Neither of his prayers were going to be answered. He could see even from the shadowed doorway of the gate that Arthur was handling a mace with a determined air. Merlin swore, briefly turning the air around him blue with his irritation. Arthur must really have it in for him. And just to top off the perfect morning as Merlin moved out of the shade into the full sun, the stab of a fully fledged migraine returned in abundance. He just knew it was going to be one of those days.

"Oh so you did indeed decide to join us _Mer_ lin? How wonderful of you to take the time out of your busy schedule to drop by and grace us with your presence." Merlin didn't acknowledge his monarch's sarcastic quip as he turned to the weapons rack and grabbed a helmet, mace and shield of his own. "Not today Merlin just the helmet and shield for now." Risking a quick glance in his king's direction Merlin noted Arthur's decidedly demonic grin and realised just how doggedly he would go after his blood. _Oh what fun_ , he thought gloomily, he was to be the equivalent of a live dummy again, as he reluctantly replaced the spiked ball and chain back in its holder. It was definitely going to be one of his worst days. The type where he really wondered at himself and his capacity to forgive and forget in the face of the overbearing dollop head Arthur could still revert to when the mood took him. And this would be one of those, no holds barred training sessions he really needed his wits about him to stay upright. It really was a pity then, that right now his wits were scattered to the four winds. He wondered how long he would hold out against Arthur's full might and whether he would need Gaius's aid by the end of it. Hopefully not Gaius had enough to do.

From the very first blow he knew this would be one of the hardest he had ever had to endure. Every bit of Arthur's strength was brought to bear, as if he could beat Merlin's supposed dependence on mead and ale out of him. The blows were pulled only minimally if at all and Merlin couldn't help but think it a good thing Arthur was such a good warrior who knew just how precise his aim or he could have been in serious trouble by now.

After only a few more minutes Merlin realised he still might be. He was having to grit his teeth as shockwaves reverberated up his arm from the now flimsy seeming piece of wood and metal held as the only barrier between Arthur's wrath and permanent maiming. _Just how was this supposed to help really_? Shutting his eyes to minimise the peril of someone seeing the glow he ducked a little further behind the shield and risked a little magic to ensure he could keep his hold. The resulting brace helped a little but it was a far from perfect solution and wasn't helping his headache nor keeping him from feeling increasingly like jelly.

He lasted maybe another five minutes, but it felt like hours until finally his foot slipped on the dew drenched grass and he went down to his knees. The shield still valiantly raised to try and ward of the last blow, but when it came, it knocked him the rest of the way to the ground. The migraine had gotten steadily worse at the abuse and left him feeling nauseous, his head swimming from the lack of proper rest. He lay gasping, willing his rebelling stomach to cease its somersaults and trying desperately to reconcile _**this**_ Arthur with the one he had sworn was worth the sacrifices he had made. Because the man he knew would not normally have hit another when he was down. Not even a supposedly heavy drinker needing a lesson in discretion.

A hand came out of nowhere to help him up, and he grasped it with gratitude until he was actually upright and the world spun. For the second time he ended up on his knees, this time his stomach won and he ended retching helplessly into the short grass at the side of the grounds. All he could think was that this would just exacerbate Arthur's belief in his tavern trip and garner him even less sympathy than before.


	3. Chapter 3 Frustrations mount

_**A/N So here we are. Only one week (and a tiny bit) waiting time for this next chapter. Will wonders never cease? Lol. I am trying to be better. I have even done some work on the next chapter of screaming but that one might take a little more time yet since I lost a vital set of notes for the beginning of the chapter when I moved house. As soon as I find it that fic can move along too**._

 _..._

He's at the tavern Chapter 3.

He hated being right.

No sooner had his bout of illness passed, with his almost wishing he could pass out here in full view of everyone and bugger the fact he'd be ribbed about it for weeks afterward. At least then Gaius would be called for and he could explain and be allowed to sleep, but the anonymous hand had snaked out once again and helped him regain his feet. He wasn't altogether surprised to note it belonged to Percival. He really should have realised sooner, those hands were like spades and pretty hard to mistake for anyone else's, though to be fair he was not exactly feeling his best at the moment.

He stood there pale and shaky and feeling marginally better for purging his stomach but he knew how his migraines worked and this was one of the worst types, when even Gaius's strongest remedies failed to take the edge off and the pain in his head would just grow again until he held a repeat performance in the not too distant future. He needed to lie down in a darkened room, with a cold compress across his forehead, dosed up on Gaius's poppy syrup which would make him sleep for at least two hours. It always left him feeling loopy and dazed afterward and he would swear he would never take it again; until the next time one as bad as this hit and he would practically beg his guardian to make it go away. But one look at Arthur's face, at the contempt simmering just beneath the surface and he just knew the mercy he longed for would not be forthcoming any time soon.

No there was no softness to Arthur at this moment in time and that was unlike him too. There must be something more bothering the king than just whether or not Merlin drank too much. His habits had never come under such close scrutiny before, and though Arthur had always grumbled when Gaius had mentioned the tavern as Merlin's alibi of the moment he'd never seen fit to be completely vindictive about it before today. Unless he counted George's rather...eccentric teaching methods.

He could only come to the conclusion Arthur had been under more stress than usual and he Merlin, had become the convenient target for the king to vent his frustrations on. It had occurred before not, usually as bad as this seemed to be shaping up to be granted, but Merlin nearly always had methods of handling him even so.

Deflecting and cajoling and dealing with a couple of days of ill temper until Arthur declared a hunting trip and Merlin could breathe easier knowing he then had an outlet, and was able to take his frustrations out on the unsuspecting wildlife rather than one overworked warlock. So quite apart from not knowing just what had taken place to set him off, he really, really wished it hadn't happened just now when he was so tired and very ill equipped to deal with whatever crisis Arthur was trying to work around.

And now Arthur was striding toward him where he was being propped against Percival's side, knowing whatever was coming would just add to the misery. "Stable duty, now!"

"Sire he wasn't..."Percival tried to come to the rescue but even he knew it was too little too late. He should have spoken up earlier. Now if he argued, it would just look like he was defending a servant for the sake of their friendship; that or he hadn't been entirely honest and make Arthur look a little too closely at those trips. Which for the most part was fine, there were many legitimate reasons for Merlin to leave even if the knights had seen his usual habit of being surreptitious in his movements. However, it was those very rare and sometimes not so legal occasions the young man worried over. It would be just his luck for Arthur to follow him at precisely the wrong time and see something unexplainable.

Merlin could see the conflict playing out with the knights slowly grinding jaw, but to say anything now would most likely result in his own punishment rather than a lessening of Merlin's. It was better if only one of them bore the brunt of Arthur's foul mood.

"He wasn't what? Too rat arsed to know when to stop?" Merlin swallowed heavily knowing to keep silent. "You will clean every stall in the royal stable not just those of my own horses. At least if you are ill there you are in a position to clean it! Report to the steward after, I'll not have you anywhere near our royal guests before you've sobered up and can conduct yourself with dignity." And for the second time that day he showed his back to the warlock. This time Merlin never even tried to call him back or explain. He knew from experience it would do little good as he watched him depart with pain filled eyes. At least with Arthur's mention of royal guest's he now knew the probable cause of his latest bout of prattishness.

Turning back to the knights crowding around him, he took note of the silence taking over this end of the grounds. "Merlin...I..." Percival tried looking altogether sorrowful and the rest weren't much better, Gwaine even went so far as to have a positively, kicked puppy type of expression.

"Save it! He's long past the point he'd listen to anyone, even you. All we can do is whether it out and hope whatever bad humour he's gotten himself into works itself out before we all collapse." He stated wearily, his earlier irritation with the knights all but forgotten.

"You're ill Merlin. Gaius could confirm it." At this point, Merlin thought, even a prognosis of impending death from Gaius with himself laying prostrate in his bed and attended by his tearful mother, might not be enough to sway his irate monarch. Only a headache, even of the intensity of this particular migraine, had no chance of garnering so much as a kindly glance with Arthur's current level of frustration.

"Yes well, Gaius isn't here. He's dealing with yet another accident in the lower town. And this is just a headache from being up all night collecting for Gaius and the night before doing Arthur's spare chainmail since he just had to have it ready just in case." The slightly sing-song, bitingly sarcastic quality held more than a hint of bitterness and Merlin hastily quashed it till it was merely worn out. These were still knights in front of him. "I'll be fine. Best make yourselves scarce lest he devise a worse fate for you lot."

"There's a worse fate than mucking every stall in the royal stable and then having to work for old prune face Derril?" Gwaine's half smile perhaps wasn't the most comforting in the circumstances but at least he was trying.

"There will be and trust me, with the mood Arthur's in at the moment he'll know exactly what it is." It wasn't meant to be a joke but the knights laughed anyway as he made his weary way to the stable block. With the luck he had today, whatever was worse than the stables would be waiting for him once he'd done with the castle steward? He could say with perfect honesty this was shaping up to be one of his worst as a servant. Not perhaps the worst as a defender of Camelot. No the worst of those could be counted in the lost lives of his friends and loved ones, but on those he'd usually had the support, albeit of the oblivious type, of a princely clot pole.

As it was, King Arthur seemed to have taken a shift in his thinking in the weeks since Morgana's second defeat. Withdrawing from all those he had thus far called friend, he most of all. And since the retaking of the Castle it had seemed to get subtly worse month by month as spring waned into summer and then the days started shortening. All these new treaties and trade bargains becoming ever more important just so they could survive through the coming winter after Morgana burned their crops to ash.

But even then Arthur had never let the stresses inherent with hosting the gathered allies interfere with his days. Or maybe they had? Maybe this had been building for quite some time, and Merlin had become the oblivious one with all the added pressures of being the only physician's assistant qualified, loyal and trustworthy enough to work independently within the court in such harrowing circumstances.

Whatever the case he would look into the whys and wherefore's later when this interminable day finally drew to a close.


	4. Chapter 4 Everard Derril

**A/N Good evening people's! Another instalment for your perusal. I hope you like Merlin suffering as much as me.**

 **Muahahaha!**

 **Ok so must remember the Evil laugh is better out loud. I will place the note on my 'How to be an Evil overlord' instruction pamphlet. Right under the reminder not to wear sparkly pastels in public if on a dark and dangerous rampage.**

...

He's at the tavern Chapter 4.

Magic was the only reason he managed to get through the tortuous hours he spent in the stables on that horrid day.

Every time his energy waned or his stomach swelled with the force of sickness, caused by the worst head he had ever had to deal with since being poisoned by the Serkets, he sank into a corner and used his power to temporarily stave it off. Such use would come back to haunt him later, he knew, but by the time the effects caught up he hoped he would be in Gaius's hands and able to let go completely. He couldn't say for sure what the consequences would be if he was not, but needless to say he didn't think it would be pretty. Or that Arthur would be at all sympathetic.

No, safe to say Merlin did not enjoy his sojourn with the horses. And as he walked slowly, painfully back up to the castle proper, he could only think his treatment would only get all the poorer when he reported to Everard Derril. The steward and general factotum did not like him. As far as Merlin was aware, he had never liked him. Merlin had no idea why unless it was the stewards continued belief in Merlin's general uselessness. The thought stung only slightly. He'd been in Arthur's service for many years now, and if Arthur had never seen fit to 'permanently' fire him when all others had failed within their first few months, surely there must be something redeemable about his skills.

But no, that first morning after the feast Gaius had shown him the man's work chambers. The Place he would collect his wages, and supposedly gain the training he needed for the job Uther had so grandly bestowed. The moment he had stepped through the doorway he had instantly been intimidated by the older man's dismissal. The Steward's resemblance to old man Symonds from his home village had been uncanny. The sneer, the attitude of superiority and the lazy affected drawl could have been pulled straight from his childhood nightmares.

Merlin had been inspected from top to toe with eyes faded with age but no less piercing from his much shorter height. He had then sneered with the same disgust Symonds had always regarded his adventures with Will whilst growing up. It had made his then seventeen year old self feel much like a bug. And with the impression the steward's intense scrutiny would only last as long as his curiosity before the expensive looking boot heel would come down and grind him to dust on the pale stone floor.

"I'm supposed to turn _**you**_ into a servant to our esteemed rulers? You won't last a week _**boy."**_ That **had** stung. So much more so because he knew he had never aspired to the serving classes and couldn't think he had any expertise in it either. He was an over educated farm boy coming straight in fresh from the country and his only experiences being of surviving in a harsh, border, agriculture village and the occasional scribe work done for the travellers who passed through. "You think saving the prince's life will get you special treatment? It will not! The prince has very specific standards and I won't waste time teaching some peasant boy with no understanding or intelligence enough to learn. You're just a lucky usurper who will probably be fired before day's end. Get out of my office boy and run home to your mother this is no place for you." It had been all he could do to hold in the scathing comments he itched to launch at the pompous arse. He wasn't unintelligent and being a peasant had not held him back from being literate or from being a quick study.

He could not believe how bigoted this man was and he'd thought Arthur was bad, the consummate Pratt. But Merlin had been initially determined to make a better impression on the head of the serving staff. Had tried the same tactics he had employed in his home village of keeping his head down and educating himself, since the man clearly had no inclination to motivate himself to help. He had hoped that if he showed enough willingness, enthusiasm and resourcefulness it might soften his attitude towards him enough at least to show him the basics of what to do and what not to. Alas the steward had been determined to think the worst of him, taking every opportunity to belittle his achievements and point out every flaw. He seemed to take every instance of Merlin's inexperience as a personal affront.

Merlin had merely been left with the feeling anyone in authority was a stuck up prig and really needed to be brought down a peg or two. The mutual dislike, even dare he say it, enmity had continued for all the time he'd been here.

Only getting worse the longer Merlin lasted. And as the days had turned into weeks and the weeks to months and then to years as Arthur changed and grew and became an almost friend, the stewards expression only grew more sour. His words became fewer and those much more derogatory and cutting. Arthur's rare shows of favour just added another layer to the man's heap of perceived grievances against the warlock.

Merlin had slowly lost his terror of disappointing people, whilst his amusement at his successes being a cause for such a violent reaction within the steward, grew more intense. It was his source of private entertainment to figure out just how dour his face would look each time he collected his wages. It had been funny when he'd not had to report to him directly. Now he did and it could only be classed as a nightmare.

He could only imagine the jobs the steward would have saved up for just such an occasion. Merlin falling from grace was not a new phenomenon, yet he had never been without Arthur's favour for long. Nor had he ever annoyed Arthur enough to be assigned to Derril personally. And with Arthur in such a snit the vindictive man could do pretty much as he pleased without threat of consequences. Hell, Arthur would probably deem any and all disgusting, slightly dangerous tasks as character building and congratulate the man for finding such a suitable punishment.

He counted himself as a strong individual, he had to be to survive so long in so hostile an environment, and resourceful, he could weather this potential storm. It would just be difficult, very difficult. So it was with the greatest trepidation, concealed behind a well practiced mask of respectful subservience, he raised his fist to knock and entered the lair of the beast at his call to enter.

...

When a servant had come running into his office first thing with a folded note hastily written in his Kings hand Everard Derill, master steward and chatelaine, had thought his day would prove trying at best.

What pray tell could King Arthur want so very early? His first thought had been for their royal guests and the note had perhaps contained a complaint, or a request. Either could have proven to be a monumental headache of smoothing ruffled feathers or of organising the staff to some unexpected feat.

It had been neither, instead it had unexpectedly made the stewards day. Merlin had been caught out in some misdemeanour and been assigned to his service for the duration of the guest's stay. His wages were to be withheld until he was deemed to have sufficiently shown his remorse.

The steward's eyes had rounded with first shock and then private glee. Merlin, the man whom had seemed untouchable, for whom being fired from the Prince and then King's service seemed only a temporary setback, had finally been given his comeuppance and the steward could not be more glad.

The man was disrespectful in the extreme and clumsy with it. A naive fool with nothing to his name, save pulling a prince out of his chair in a public show of recklessness. Worse even than this bit of glory seeking, was the knowledge his nephew's honoured place was no longer assured. The livelihood Everard had been training the boy for had been stolen by a man without proficiency or proper knowledge. The servant's duties to royalty rightfully belonging to the most experienced staff and George should have been that man.

Morris had been intending to leave, set up shop with his uncle and his sweetheart, the prince having become a demanding taskmaster he could not handle. It had been the perfect opportunity to push forward not only his family but himself as well. Forewarned of the prince's anticipated need the steward had been training George in private. Attempting with great success to make him the most perfectly polished member of staff, one guaranteed to become the ideal manservant to the prince. It was the stewards' intent for him to then slowly move up the rankings until he could take over his own position allowing him to retire. In a few short years he would have been able to retire with honour and a generous stipend, enough so his carefully hoarded fortune built through years of skimming the wages of those under him for supposed punishment of mistakes could pass without anyone being the wiser.

With that one act Merlin had scuppered all his future plans as his nephew became relegated to the ranks of highly trained surplus staff reserved for noble and royal guests. An important but overlooked role, his nephew was shunted aside and made invisible by a smart mouthed idiot from a more than slightly dubious border smallholding, whose alliance with their own kingdom was shaky at best. And he was still plugging away in this stifling castle instead of enjoying his well earned riches on a peaceful country estate.

It was not to be borne. Quite apart from the humiliation of having his well trained, obedient and moreover loyal nephew cast away without so much as a by-your-leave, Merlin could very well have been a spy, the whole thing set up to bring him into the household without much protest. What better way to allay suspicion of ill intent than to save the prince's life?

No one had taken his concerns seriously, even as Merlin was accused of sorcery more times than he cared to count. Stuck his nose into everyone's business and was constantly underfoot and in the thick of things when anything went wrong, especially when it was of magical origin. How could no one see how dangerous the boy was? Every single time he had raised the matter he had been dismissed, supposedly proven wrong and given pitying looks as regards his mental faculties.

That boy was a menace, and stupid though he may be, he still managed to evade capture and justice for his association with the dark arts. His intelligence was far too lacking to be a sorcerer himself, the thought of that was just laughable. Peasants from the back of beyond just weren't capable of understanding the subtleties inherent with magic, but he knew someone or something must have that capability and was being used by the boy as a source of information he was sure of that.

Now he had a way of removing the threat altogether and of taking revenge for his own disappointments. It was years too late, and George had told him Arthur hadn't been very taken with his service despite praising his efficiency when he had taken on the role temporarily earlier this year at Everard's insistence. Those few days when Merlin had been missing and presumed dead and then been to the tavern for days after (an extremely suspicious turn of events no one else seemed to have taken note of, but he had as usual), George had told him how the monarch had made Merlin learn from him. George had been so proud his expertise had been noted so efficaciously but Everard had seethed that it had never led to anything save George then finding himself in demand for lessons on household management. Merlin had remained in service, still holding the position of honour George should have occupied and that young nephew of his, his useless kin had been content to step back again. Telling his uncle he admired the way Merlin could handle the Kings moods. His bloody nephew admired the man who would sell them all into Hades foul grasp? No he would not see it happen.

However, this now was an opening he could not pass up and George, despite his seeming lack of ambition would thank him when his promotion became assured. The boy had never known what was best for his own self.

He would need to make sure Merlin left of his own accord, he had proved time and again there was something preventing anything sticking to his reputation and little wonder if he had a source of magic protecting him, it was probably some spell. Some enchantment which meant he would have to willingly give up his place, which also meant he would have to shove a rather obvious wedge between king and servant so wide there was no chance of being able to cross back again. This called for subtlety and all his proficiency in manipulation.

It helped that there was no time limit to the withholding of wages, just that indistinct assurance of Merlin having to repent, though even here he was asked to apologise not be sent packing unceremoniously, _just how strong was this magic charm of his?_ Then of course there was that emphasis on this being a punishment, something dire Merlin had to finally atone for and therefore nothing to say how awful the jobs should or shouldn't be.

He could have him clean the three guarderobe's ranged around the castle every day on hands and knees and have him polish every piece of metal held within the castle stores until midnight and then have him up with the dawn to split logs for a month if he so wished, the thought brought a twinkle to his eye and a chuckle to his lips It would be a simple matter if anyone cared to look into his methods later for him to tell them how vaguely worded the note was and that as far as he could tell Merlin had not shown any form of remorse, how could he when they had all seen how insolent the man was.

He was the only man who seemed to be immune to whatever influence he had over everyone. That made him happy in a way, realising he must be exceptionally strong willed and special to see through to the black heart beating within and resist the pull of his charm. It only reinforced his opinion this was his task and how great his reward should be. The King would be eternally grateful for freeing him he was sure.

He happily spent the hour until the knock came making lists of the most humiliating, time consuming and dirty jobs he could rarely find people to undertake ready for Merlin to show and find out exactly how much he hated him and his scheming ways. When it finally came he let a slow grin spread out across his face stretching the muscles in unfamiliar ways before he composed himself and sat back in his padded chair, transforming his features reluctantly back into the stern, aloof icicle the rest of the servants knew him as.

"Come in."

"Master Derill? Arthur has assigned me to you for the day." His tone was respectful as it always had been around him (and what better indication that the steward was right than this, Merlin was respectful only to him, the one man who saw him as he really was. He knew the supposed show of respect was a means of trying to appease him, try and gain his trust. But he would never be appeased, nor bribed, and he would most assuredly never trust him) but there had also always been a tiny hint of impertinence, almost undetectable, lurking under the words a subtle mockery he had never been able to call him out on, as if he were laughing at him, laughing at their inability to stop his evil. Well Everard would see how much Merlin was pleased enough to express his amusement by the end. He intended this to be the worst sort of hell and lead only to either banishment at the very least, or the pyre for his subterfuge and connection to the vilest of practices if he could in any way manoeuvre such an outcome.

"Oh not just for the day boy, you have been handed to my service for the duration of our royal guests stay. I imagine our King is not happy with your behaviour or your application toward your duties at the moment since I'm to make sure you regret whatever it is you've done wrong." He kept his tone even. Never let it be said Everard couldn't keep a lid on his suspicions or his triumph. It was enough to see Merlin's already parchment skin whiten further till he resembled the colour of whey.

"Now I have a whole host of tasks demanding attention forthwith, since we haven't had anyone willing to carry them out recently." The white had now become a sickly yellow and two spots of furious colour bloomed across his cheeks as Merlin realised just what that statement meant. The most dreadful assignments of duty were the ones least often filled and Merlin had now been landed with them all. The first list was handed over and he swore Merlin swayed slightly even as his jaw tightened in anger and frustration. Inside the steward was laughing wholeheartedly. He would see just how much his protection was worth in the face of the steward's determination and ingenuity.

This would be sweet retribution indeed.


End file.
